


Playing with Marbles

by kams_log



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Dean, EVERYTHING GOES WRONG, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Everything Hurts, F/M, Hunter Dean, Hurt Dean, Journalist Cassie, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, Mute Dean, Past Character Death(s), Post-Season/Series 10, Selectively Mute Dean Winchester, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts and Ideations, slow healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kams_log/pseuds/kams_log
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After suffering a severe mental breakdown from losing his brother and angel, Dean finds himself kept in a mental health clinic in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. He has no intentions of ever leaving, or living for that matter. But it's difficult when old friends, and older flames, continue to fight for him and pull him back to reality. But reality is messy, and Dean isn't sure it's even worth it. But with time, he starts to wonder if there might be some worth in life after all.</p><p>Cassie has been climbing the corporate ladder for the past ten years. It's been strange, living with the knowledge of monsters and hunters out there. She thinks often of Dean, of Sam, of the life she barely caught a glimpse of when she was younger. But those days are done, and she has her own life and friends to think about now. Little does she realize that seeing one old face in a crowd of strangers will send her reeling back down memory lane. Maybe there was a reason she could never fully let go after all.</p><p>[PLEASE READ THE TAGS.]</p><p>NOTE: ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. (I'm wrapping up two other projects that are time sensitive. Then I will update here. Thank you for your patience!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i found out that this fic was accidentally (?) deleted. anyway, reposting it now, currently setting up the next two/three chapters. please enjoy! sorry that i had to post this twice.
> 
> also, again, all major character deaths are only in the past. from chapter one forward, there are none. apologies for any mistakes!
> 
> (dedicated to my friend mo, cockleddean.)

Dean woke up to a sharp pain in his side. He groaned and rolled over, head in his hands as he tried to gather his bearings, check his surroundings, remember what happened.

They’d been hunting a witch and familiar in Nebraska. That much was certain. They’d taken every precaution, triple checked their weapons as they always did, and planned their attack. Everything was going according to plan. At least it was, until they showed up in time to see the witch meeting with some kind of deity.

They weren’t sure which kind it was, but it was powerful. Too powerful. It was stronger than angels, strong enough to rip them all apart and fling them to different areas of the warehouse.

That kind of situation was reserved for amped up demons and manic angels. Not witches. By the time Dean was climbing to his feet, the warehouse was in chaos. Shingles of the roof were flying off; pieces of rotten wood and broken plaster fell to the ground in chunks large enough to break limbs.

Dean covered his head, shouted for Sam, for Cas, for either of them. The last thing he saw was a flash of blue light, the sky ripping open right in front of him, and the sound of screaming before everything went silent and still.

He’d been too stunned to sense the falling beam before it slammed against his shoulders, breaking into pieces.

He’d lost consciousness. But now he was awake, and there was a massive plank of something stuck in his side.

Dean grunted and slowly pushed himself upright, clenching his teeth against the pain until he was half vertical. He grasped the edges of the plank with both hands, tugging until it slowly slid out, only guided by blood and fingers until it hit the floor at Dean’s side.

He gasped and pressed his hands to his side, glaring around the wreckage.

“ _Sam?!_ ” He shouted, grunting as he rolled onto his knees. There was no reply as he got to his feet. Nothing stirred around him. Only silence remained.

“Cas!” Dean called next. Still, nothing. He shivered and pressed harder against his wound. He could feel heat escaping through the blood, leaking down his gut and staining his jeans.

There was no way he’d be able to find Sam and Cas in this damage. But Cas was an angel, he should have been just fine. If anything, he could have grabbed Sam and ditched back to the motel. But leaving Dean behind? That didn’t make sense.

He clenched his teeth and stumbled forward. He had to get out of here, at least treat his wound before he tried looking for anyone.

He only tripped twice getting out of the half destroyed warehouse. His baby was parked a block away. Close, but too far with the pain he was in. His hands shook as he opened the trunk, pulling out bandages and the sewing kit. There wasn’t time to go back to the motel to stitch himself up, and like hell he was leaving this place without Sam or Cas.

Dean closed his eyes and got to work.

It was too long before he felt strong enough to get up again. Cas hadn’t answered his prayers during his brief reprieve, he was only lucky no one was passing by as he sat against his wheels, catching his breath and keeping the pressure tight against his side. But he forced himself up again and wandered back inside.

He stayed all night and didn’t even make it through half the debri. But it was enough to know that Sam and Cas were gone. If they weren’t buried beneath the rubble, they had to have gotten out.

But they hadn’t called him to let him know where they were. Cas would have come back by now, at the very least.

It only left one option. The deity took them. He didn’t even know where to start looking.

Luckily for him, he had the original case to begin his search.

It took him little over a week to track down the witch and familiar again. They’d ran three states before Dean caught up to them. It took less than a few hours to get the name of the monster that took his brother and angel.

It was called Abbus, supposedly the god of dusk. Dean didn’t care much for the details. At that point, Sam and Cas had been gone for a week, and it was Abbus’s fault. All Dean cared about was finding out how to kill him. Bottom line.

There wasn’t nearly enough lore on it. It was idealized that Abbus had power over the dusk, long believed to be the transit time of the dead. Some people believed light was its weakness, others believed it was purified blood of the saints, those who didn’t deserve to cross over.

The best thing Dean could do was get a flashlight, blood prayed over by a dubious priest, and the last angel blade he had.

All that was left was tracking the bastard. That part wasn’t nearly as easy.

He caught a lead on Abbus after two months of driving across the country both ways. It was chance, luck at best, but an old contact messaged him about odd disappearances and deaths, all occurring at dusk in Missouri.

Dean came with the pedal to the floor, arriving in the wee hours of the following morning. It gave him an entire day to prepare, learn as much as he could from his contact, and get Sam and Cas back. As far as he knew, this would be his only chance for months. He had to make it count.

Together they carried blades dipped in blood and enough matches and gasoline to set a building on fire. They staked out the next victim, the latest to be targeted in a string of family deaths and disappearances that all claimed to be ‘natural,’ or ‘runaways,’ but were all too sudden to be anything but.

“He’ll strike at dusk,” Tom, his partner, stated as he handed over the binoculars. “It’ll probably be in the house, like the others. Thought it was a haunting at first.”

“We thought it was a witch last time this sucker hit,” Dean replied. “This thing has a habit of using other monsters to its advantage.”

“Smart.”

Dusk fell. Dean’s skin was crawling, jittery with unused energy. He needed to kill something. Immediately.

“Remember,” Dean warned as they got out of the car. “Don’t kill it too fast. I need my family back.”

Tom nodded and accepted the blade Dean handed out. It was time.

They went in to the sound of screaming, a young woman curled at the base of the sofa as a glowing blue man spread out his hand over her head.

“Get away from her!” Dean shouted. It was enough of a distraction. The monster pulled back and glared at them, eyes burning white in the face of their high powered flashlights. It hissed, steam rising, and ducked over the side of the couch. The young woman took the opportunity to run for the door.

“Get it!” Dean shouted. Tom ran around the edge of the couch, flashlight and dagger ready, but a flash of blue light erupted through the room. Dean barely had a moment to collect himself before he heard Tom’s scream. He shuddered, memories of Sam and Cas flashing through his mind. He didn’t get a chance to move before the blue hand shot out from behind the sofa, wrapping around Tom’s throat and squeezing.

Tom’s dagger and flashlight were missing. His feet dangled over the ground.

Dean was ashamed to hesitate. But the grip on his blade tightened, his feet were planted in the ground. He couldn’t kill Abbus. He couldn’t. He needed Sam. He needed Cas. He couldn’t get them back if Abbus was dead.

But he could still wound him.

Dean pulled out his secondary knife and tossed it, smiling when it lodged itself deep in the monster’s shoulder.

Tom fell to the ground. Abbus screamed at them.

The monster reached out and waved its hand. A fissure erupted in the air right in front of him.

“ _No!_ ” Dean screamed, but it was too late.

“Dean?!”

Tom’s feet lifted off the ground once more, his eyes wide and terrified. He heard Tom’s scream just before he was sucked inside the hole.

Dean roared and lunged forward, but the monster raised its hand and sent Dean back into the ground, chin hitting the ground hard. Stars erupted behind his eyelids. His head spun.

Footsteps echoed in his ears as the monster stepped forward, feet finally clearing in his vision. The knife clattered to the floor in front of Dean’s nose.

“ _You caught me by surprise,_ ” Abbus growled, kicking the blade away. “ _But if you thought you’d win so simply, you were mistaken._ ”

It reached down and wrapped its fingers around Dean’s throat, tugging him up until he was on his knees, pulled up just enough that he felt the air in his lungs constrict.

He reached back for his blade, but the monster grabbed his wrist, crushing it in one motion. Dean cried out, but the grip on his throat tightened, cutting it off short.

“ _Foolish._ ”

A slow smile spread across its face. The grip on Dean’s throat loosened a fraction as it tilted its head, considering him quietly. “ _You’re the one I spared in Nebraska,_ ” it muttered after a moment. “ _I took your brother and the angel._ ”

“Give them back,” Dean growled.

“ _Or what?_ ” The smile was unwavering. It was cold, freezing Dean in place with terror he knew wasn’t his. “ _You’re in no position to make demands._ ”

“Then you better kill me now,” Dean snapped. “Or you’re gonna’ spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. Give. Them. _Back_.”

“ _They’re gone._ ” The monster pulled Dean up higher, effectively cutting off his air as it looked down at him. “ _Have you not spent all this time trying to get them back? Getting to me? You should know. I don’t give dead things back to the living._ ”

Dean swore his heart stopped beating.

“Y-You’re lying,” he gasped, clawing at the hand around his throat. “ _Bastard_.”

“ _I’ll show you_.”

It raised its free hand and pressed it against Dean’s forehead, ignoring his struggling until its nails latched into his skin and snapped his head back.

Dean felt the world move into slow motion. A foreign, alien feeling swept through his body. It spread from his head to his feet, branching out until not one part of his body was spared from the numbness. It touched his mind, opening it, connecting it to something else. Probably to the monster’s mind. Dean wasn’t sure.

But he watched through its eyes, saw the warehouse, saw the fissure in the sky as the warehouse was destroyed. He saw his brother’s eyes, heard Cas scream. He watched them disappear through the hole. Then he saw… nothing. Nothing at all.

Cold dread seeped into his bones as Abbus pulled his body forward, chests touching as the monster whispered, “ _I’m very fond of dimensional travel. But there are even some dimensions that are nothing but void. I’m sure your brother and angel are quite happy in oblivion. There’s no way back from the other side._ ”

It shoved Dean’s body backward, his body slamming against the floor. Abbus stepped over his still form, smile still lingering, still visible in the darkness of the room.

“ _Maybe someday I’ll collect you too. Enjoy your taste of oblivion._ ”

Dean lay still on the floor, barely breathing as the monster disappeared in a flash of blue light.

His body was numb. His mind roared and screamed, pain touching each of his limbs as though a thousand needles were dancing on his skin. His heart thundered painfully in his chest. All he could see was darkness. All he could hear were Sam and Cas’s screams.

He never recalled getting up again. He couldn’t remember doing anything at all. Not for six months.

It was sunny when he blinked and came back to himself again. He was no longer in a living room. It was no longer night. He was wearing white scrubs and there were scars covering his arms that weren’t there before Abbus.

He was in a building he didn’t recognize. Men and women, young and old alike, filled out the room in different areas. Some of them were playing card games, others were doing crafts or socializing, some watching an old movie.

Someone was talking to him. A man in a white doctor’s coat. Dean stared at the way his lips moved, watched the concern reflected in his eyes as he tried to get Dean’s attention to stay fixed on his.

Dean didn’t care. He didn’t _care_. Sam was gone. Cas was gone. He could never get them back.

He was done.

He spotted a window to his left. Judging by the view, they were on the ground floor. But the glass would do.

He stood up and started walking. His fist connected with the glass just as a dozen hands wrapped around his torso and pulled him back.

It still didn’t matter, he thought, as they dragged him out of the room. He was done. He didn’t care anymore.

He was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: lovefromdean.tumblr.com
> 
> like it? love it? please let me know! thank you for reading!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for the kudos. They meant a lot to me, and I'm glad you liked the first chapter. I just wanted to mention it again that this will be a long fic, (long burn for cassie and dean.) This fic is mostly about exploring what it would look like if Dean were to have a total mental break. I did a lot of research, and while I am not perfect, I am going to try and display it to the best of my ability :) That includes hospitals, mental clinics, treatment, etc. 
> 
> I really hope you like this next chapter! This is how Cassie first discovers Dean. (Also please note, Cassie will have her own life as well as dealing with Dean's. So there will be a balance of both of their lives and perspectives throughout this fic.) 
> 
> Please enjoy!!

Cassie Robinson stared out the window of her office, tapping her fingers on her knee as she watched the leaves shift on the ground outside.

It was fall, usually a time of laughter and enjoyment at work. With autumn came pumpkins and candy, fairs and thanksgiving. There was no shortage of events to report on, and after the last decade of working her way up to ‘well-paid’ freelance journalist instead of ‘aspiring journalist,’ Cassie couldn’t say she was eager to report on candy sickness statistics, but it was something to do.

She still didn’t know why she had an office. Her boss, Hemmings, said it was for basic pleasantries. She visited and socialized three days of the week, then spent the rest of her week either at home or hitting the streets. It was never easy work, but it was simple, and it gave her the freedom she craved and needed.

Yet, at the moment, it had never been more dull.

She sighed and looked away from the window, ignoring the sound of children laughing across the street as she focused on the computer monitor before her.

Her article was due two days ago. She was only lucky she was given so much extra time to turn in her work. But if she didn’t get it in by midnight tonight, she was certain Hemmings wouldn’t be as forgiving.

Cassie sighed and watched the cursor blink on the screen. She needed inspiration. She needed something worth talking about.

There was a knock on the door. Cassie looked up in time to see one of the assistants, a young girl named Amy, Cassie was sure that was her name, poke her head in.

“Yes?” Cassie prodded when the girl didn’t speak.

Amy blushed and nodded furiously.

“S-Sorry,” she exclaimed, fully stepping in to walk to Cassie’s desk. “I was supposed to drop off these reports. Carla said you’d be interested in them.”

The girl dropped a stack of papers next to the monitor. Cassie raised her eyebrows and picked up the top document.

In bold letters, it read, “ _Directors of Health board seeking petition to help give long term patients better care._ ” Just below the title was a photograph of a health clinic, a sign out front tying it to one of the hospitals in the area.

Cassie glanced up at the girl, brows narrowing in confusion.

“Why would Carla give me this?” She asked, dropping the document back on the pile.

Amy shrugged and twirled her hair anxiously. “I don’t know,” she replied, faint. “She just said it might give you that push you were looking for, or-or something…”

Cassie nodded and waved her hand. “Well, tell her I said thank you. Go.”

Amy nodded sharply and quickly dashed out of the room.

Alone again, Cassie looked at the documents in front of her. She had no idea why Carla would ever have the idea that Cassie would find inspiration from _health clinics_ , but the monitor in front of her remained barren. There was nothing else for it.

She may as well take a look.

…

The drive was bright and filled with autumn colors. Reds, golds, and browns covered each of the trees and filtered golden light from the afternoon sun. Young students dashed down the street corners, freshly free of school for the rest of the day before the following morning.

Traffic was backed up because of it. Cassie sighed and drummed her fingers along the steering wheel, idly wondering if she was developing a habit.

Her eyes glanced between the cars and the sidewalk, eyeing the children who swung between their parents’ hands or gestured wildly with their friends.

They all looked… tranquil. At peace. There was a joy that flitted through the air, filling every crack and crevice with it’s presence. It was warm and fuzzy, bright and unyielding.

But Cassie didn’t feel it. She’d barely felt it for a decade.

Things change when you realize there’s more out there than creeps and killers.

The light changed and she pressed the gas pedal, thoughts wandering.

She wondered about it often. How her life had changed, not by much, but enough that nothing felt the same anymore. How the Winchesters walked into her life and shook everything she knew to its foundations. She remembered when she and Dean were barely adults. She’d thought she’d known everything back then. She knew people, knew the insane from the genius.

She used to think Dean was a genius. Then he dropped the bomb that monsters were real, and his family hunted them.

Of course she decided he was insane after that. But then, nearly a decade later, she was proven wrong. Dean hadn’t been insane, and the world suddenly turned darker and larger than she’d ever known before.

Sometimes, she ran across headlines that made her wonder. Stories, articles, little things that made her question if the source of the event was entirely human.

She’d never know, of course. But the knowledge of the truth kept her sharp, kept her thinking. It also kept her thoughts on the Winchesters, and Dean.

They were probably dead by now, she mused, as she drew closer to the hospital.

The news had been crazy for nearly a year or two, several years back. After a supposed bank robbery, murders, and other nonsense, Cassie would never forget turning on her TV to see Dean and Sam’s faces, the headline ‘ _dead_ ’ blanketing all other information.

She didn’t sleep that night. She had trouble sleeping now.

The world was hell. It was in chaos every day. The idea that they might not still be kicking around to soften the bumps in the night made her anxious.

But it’d been over ten years now. She was in her thirties, and Dean didn’t have to tell her that hunters didn’t live long lives. She’d decided a long time ago that he would probably die long before her. The thought was morbid, and horrifying to think about. But it was true, and she’d been learning to accept it for years.

But usually, she simply chose not to think about it at all. Ever. It was easier.

Her car pulled up outside the _Clearview Clinic_ just a few miles north of the hospital. It was a nice building, fairly bright with soft colors and tones. It was meant to appear welcoming. But from the articles she’d read before coming over, Cassie knew that not everything was perfect.

It wasn’t her usual article, Cassie thought as she stepped past the glass doors, but she was determined to make it work. She had a deadline to meet, after all.

A receptionist at the front desk was kind as Cassie explained who she was, that she’d called in an hour prior to coming. It was only another fifteen minutes before the director of the clinic came out and shook hands with her.

“So, you’re looking into the developments we’re making for long term patients, I hear?” The director, or doctor, was named Liaberg. He was blond, with a cliche white doctor’s coat and scrubs. His handshake was firm, and there was an unusual sparkle in his eyes as he considered her. “A reporter?”

“Journalist,” Cassie corrected. “But I work for Cape News.”

“I see,” the doctor replied. “So, would you like a tour then?”

“Please.”

As it turned out, the inside matched the outside perfectly. The building was decorated well, and the layout was comfortable and appealing.

“This clinic is set up as a minor version of our hospital,” the doctor explained. “There are doctors and nurses on staff at all times, trained and ready to handle any crisis that may arise. Although there have been very few consistent issues, our team is well equipped to care for our patients and guests, whether they are long term, or short term.”

“The majority of patients are short term, correct?” Cassie asked, glancing at her notes.

The doctor nodded and smiled.

“That’s right,” he replied. “The majority stay for only a few weeks at a time, rarely staying longer than a few months. It’s not often when a patient needs to stay longer, but sometimes, it’s safer for them and others that they remain in treatment and therapy here.”

Cassie nodded and glanced around as they continued to walk through the building. There were many visitors milling around the area. The doctor noticed her glances and explained, “Four o’clock is visiting hour. We like to keep the areas open for our visitors, but we like to keep everyone in the visiting hall.”

“That’s where we are now?”

“Almost. Just up ahead.”

The visiting hall was a massive rectangular room. There were at least a dozen tables inside, but there were also different stations for other activities. There were crafts in one corner, a TV in another. Cassie spotted some patients sitting at a table by themselves, drawing and sharing their pictures together. Some relatives, possibly friends, sat around and watched, interacting as much as they were able.

“They look happy,” Cassie noted, somewhat surprised. From the notes in the document, it seemed as though there were gaps in provided care. If there were, Cassie doubted there would be as many smiles as she was currently seeing.

“We hope so,” the doctor replied, amusement touching his tone. “I believe what you’re looking for is the differences between short term patients and long term patients. You see, individuals who come in for only a few weeks have gone through planning beforehand. They know exactly how long they’ll stay, what they’ll need, and how our program operates. They have all the tools and recourses they need to have a healthy and positive experience.”

“Why would that be any different from the long term patients?” Cassie asked.

The doctor shook his head.

“There aren’t many long term patients,” he explained. “Generally speaking, most of our long term patients are either criminally insane and can’t function by themselves, let alone be safe by themselves, or they’re being kept here by a court order that says they’re not ready to return to society.”

“As opposed to patients who would request to stay longer, or relatives getting them to stay longer for another specific amount of time.”

“Exactly. It’s for that reason we struggle to care for long term patients. If we refer to anyone here as a long term guest, it usually means no one knows for certain how long they’ll truly be here. Maybe it’ll be six months to a year. Maybe it’ll be years. Their care is usually paid for by the state, or relatives if they’re in contact and caring for the person here. But otherwise, it falls very heavily on us to provide absolutely everything these patients need.”

Cassie nodded and let the doctor lead her further into the visitor’s hall. She took note of the continuing soft colors, the open windows that let in the light to every area of the room. She could see how it could be nice to stay there, but she couldn't imagine staying indefinitely.

The thought made her shudder.

“So, how do you care for the long term patients?” Cassie asked, turning her attention back to the doctor, but his gaze was elsewhere.

“Well,” he said, “I have a perfect example.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, but followed the doctor further into the room until they stood near one of the crafts tables.

Four patients sat at the table. Two of them, a man and woman, were making bracelets with large and soft materials. The third was a young girl, likely no older than Amy, and was fixated on crocheting… something.

But it was the fourth one that drew her attention. The man’s back was to her, but she immediately took notice of the scrubs he was wearing, like he was one of the nurses on staff. She would have thought he was, if it weren’t for the powerful tension in his shoulders. The man’s body was rigid, set tight like a coil of wire, ready to break apart at any second.

“This is our John Doe,” the doctor explained, motioning to the man in scrubs. “He’s been here for over a year now.”

“What for?” Cassie asked, stepping around so she could get a look at his face.

Her heart stopped. She choked.

“We can only guess from his symptoms,” the doctor continued, oblivious to her horror. “But we’ve surmised he’s experienced some form of mental break with reality. He’s incapable of connecting with anything that’s happening around him.”

Cassie couldn’t move. She stared at the hollow green eyes in front of her, the haggard face of the man she’d been convincing herself was dead.

Dead. Dear God, it was _Dean_.

He looked… older. Much older than she remembered. Too old for only ten years to have passed.

His eyes were just as green as she remembered, but there was a darkness to them now that seemed foreign and alien to her. Those were eyes that belonged to the war veterans she interviewed a few years back for Memorial Day. He had no identifying clothing that was his own, only the scrubs issued to him by the hospital. There were scars across his hands and arms. From the short v-neck of his shirt, she could see the beginnings of a tattoo she’d never seen before.

He also had the beginnings of a beard growing along his jaw, but it was thin enough that she could see shaving cuts in various areas. She stared at them as she stepped forward, barely aware enough not to reach forward and touch him.

“Ms. Robinson?” The doctor had noticed now. Finally.

Cassie continued to stare.

“Do you know him?” He sounded hopeful. Cassie was only filled with dread.

“I--Yes, I do,” she managed to breathe, finally regaining enough feeling in her hands to do something. She started to reach forward, maybe to touch his shoulder, when the doctor abruptly grabbed her arm and pushed back.

“ _Don’t touch him_ ,” he nearly hissed. Cassie’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Why?”

“He wasn’t checked in like many of our patients,” he explained, voice low so the people close to them wouldn’t hear. “He was court ordered to stay here until he regained some semblance of his sanity back. He’s perfectly safe, most of the time, but any abrupt or unwanted touches can disturb him.”

“ _Disturb_ him?” She couldn’t help it. She laughed. She stared at the doctor incredulously, then glanced back at Dean. Dean, who hadn’t so much as glanced at her since she walked around the table. His hands were white knuckled around a half made bracelet.

She was in a nightmare.

“But you know who he is?” The doctor looked hopeful, eyes bright and concerned. Cassie sighed and nodded.

“Y-Yes. I do. I just… He’s not like this. I don’t understand how he even _could_ be.”

“Mental health is a very tricky thing.” The doctor nodded solemnly. “But that’s why this clinic exists. Now, we can finish our tour if you’d like, and I can explain how we care for long term patients, but then, I’d like to ask that you stay and give us information on who this man is. Just for the sake of putting a name to his face, please.”

Cassie nodded and ran a hand through her hair.

“I’d like that,” she replied. Her eyes didn’t waver from the broken man in front of her when she added, “His name is Dean Winchester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like it? love it? please let me know what you think in the comments below! nothing fuels my writing energy more than feedback. thank you for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean had a mental break with reality when his brother and angel died. Cassie found him at a mental health clinic, and now finds herself facing a dilemma of what to do with this knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the crazy long wait... I had the busiest month of my life between school, job interviews, and getting a new energetic puppy that likes to keep us all VERY occupied... But I have been working on the next chapter, and things are starting to finally go back to normal in my life, so updates should be more frequent from now on.
> 
> I'll try to update on Friday's, at least weekly or bi-weekly. Again, sorry for the long wait! Please enjoy and let me know what you think!! Thank you!

Cassie wrote the article. Her boss couldn’t have been happier, but she could see the skepticism in his eyes.

“Really? The psych ward?”

“Mental health clinic,” Cassie corrected.

Thomas Hemmings waved his hand and sighed. “Same difference. I’m just… This isn’t your usual kind of article. I’m only surprised.”

“Will it do?” She asked, careful not to stare too much as he shuffled the papers on his desk and nodded.

“It’s great, as always. Just give me a heads up the next time you write something in this field. Will you be following up with them later?”

“Of course,” Cassie replied. “I’ll let you know the dates.”

The doctor who’d given her the tour, Liaberg, had helped her learn more about the facility--and Dean--towards the end of the tour.

Her job was to learn about how long term patients and guests were being cared for. It seemed the biggest difficulty they’d been having was budget management. Long term guests, if they had families who were invested, would help get clothes, toiletries, and other personal affects to the guest. If they didn’t, then the clinic had to dip more into their budget reserves or rely completely on donations.

It was why Dean was wearing scrubs, Cassie later realized. There were only donations from the hospital and the community to choose from.

But then, there was Dean. Of course. Cassie hadn’t been able to get the image of his shattered green eyes out of her head. It had been a week. She couldn’t remember ever going so many days in a row with restless sleep. Whenever she slipped into unconsciousness, all she would see was his face staring right through her, like she wasn’t even there.

It was a week later, to the day, when she realized she couldn’t live like this. She needed answers, and she needed to see Dean again. Soon.

As soon as she could wrap up work and pretend her past hadn’t just come back to haunt her in the worst way imaginable.

“Cassie!” Johanna cried, extending an arm of greeting as Cassie walked into their usual restaurant. It was a tradition of hers, meeting up with her friends every week to talk out routines, schedules, work, or anything else they could think of. The debate of the past month had been about the local fair and home decorating. Cassie didn’t feel guilt in missing their last get together because of work. She was grateful, too, in an odd way. If she hadn’t missed their date she would have never seen Dean again.

“Hello again,” Cassie accepted her friend’s warm hug before nodding to the rest of the ladies. All together there were four of them.

Johanna Blake, a curvy woman with dark brown hair and a penchant for getting herself into trouble. She worked at the winery outside of town. The other was Carla Jacobs, another journalist who worked with Cassie. And then there was Sally Mason, a young woman with honey gold eyes and matching hair who worked at a shelter downtown.

They were a unique bunch, all having met through _Cape News_ and articles written over time. There was friendship and chemistry, and Cassie couldn’t have asked for better friends over the past several years.

“So, I saw that article worked out for you?” Carla asked, raising an eyebrow as she threw back her drink.

“Yes,” Cassie grinned. She made herself comfortable in her seat as a server came to get her lunch order. “I still haven’t thanked you for that. Or Amy.”

Carla laughed and shook her head. “You really don’t have to. It’s been sitting on my desk forever. I figured it might help with some inspiration. You’ve always liked the unusual cases.”

“Yes! A psych ward.” Sally’s tone took on a teasing tone as she continued, “I always wondered what those were like. Was it anything like the movies?”

Cassie shook her head and sipped at her water. “Not at all. It was a mental health clinic. It’s more like a rehabilitation facility than anything else.”

“That’s much less interesting,” Johanna sighed. “But I heard it got a lot of letters in about community partnerships to help.”

Cassie nodded and spun the glass in her hand, eyes tracking their waiter who made their way around the restaurant.

She wished they would talk about something else. Her thoughts were already taken with the clinic. She didn’t want to think about the clinic, or Liaberg, or _Dean_. Just once this week, she wanted to have a little light wine, enjoy some quality food and conversation with friends, and not be concerned about what happened to Sam, or the rest of Dean’s family, or anything even remotely related to Winchesters.

So she forced her attention on the way the afternoon light filled the restaurant, payed more attention than necessary to the way her friends laughed at Johanna’s jokes, and took great care to keep her smile firmly in place.

The last thing she needed right then was questions about her thoughts.

She managed to get through the entire hour without drawing unnecessary attention to herself. She slipped her coat back on as she left, waving goodbye to her friends in the parking lot. It was only as Cassie turned the key to her car’s ignition that she made up her mind.

She was never going to stop thinking about this. The only way to deal with her worries was to face them head on.

Work could wait for today. She needed to revisit the clinic. Today.

…

They were in the garden’s today. Liaberg was unavailable when Cassie arrived, so a nurse named Mabel kindly led Cassie through the halls to the back of the clinic where they had an outdoor garden.

It was beautiful. The trees were all golden and red from the fall weather, but the grass was still kept clean and healthy through the cold. Flowers still held strong near a pond at the center, a mini-fountain sprouting up in the middle of the water.

There were several patients sitting on benches and near outdoor tables. Many of them talked to each other, a few others kept to themselves, pretending they weren’t watching the monitors carefully.

Cassie’s eyes scoured the faces around her as Mabel went into some kind of speech about the benefits of outdoor activities. The younger woman must have figured out Cassie wasn’t listening when she spotted where Cassie’s eyes landed, finally.

“That’s right,” Mabel smiled, “you were here to visit our John Doe, right?”

“Dean,” Cassie nodded.

The man in question was sitting in a wheelchair today. His eyes were vacant, just like the week before, but his cheeks were flushed from the cold air, making his freckles stand out like constellations. He still wore the same scrubs, but today he had a wind breaker thrown over his shoulders, arms not tucked in and free in his lap.

“Did he not want the jacket?” Cassie asked, stepping around the pond to get closer to him.

Mabel shook her head and sighed. “He doesn’t like to be touched. It’s the best we can do without triggering him.”

Cassie knelt down beside the wheelchair when she was close enough. Her hand reached up for the edge of the wheelchair, eyes carefully monitoring his hands so she didn’t touch them.

“What’s he like?” Cassie asked. “When he’s… triggered?”

Mabel’s expression twisted, growing pensive. Cassie tried not to read into it, but she could tell the woman was looking for the kindest words possible without being insensitive. It was the look nurses gave her back when her mother was nearing the end of her time. They were trying to be gentle when Cassie only ever cared about the truth.

But still, she waited as Mabel explained, “He becomes violent.” Mabel licked her lips and glanced at her shoes. “Because of his muteness, we’re not sure where he came from or any family members, so we have nothing to go off of. All we know is that he doesn’t like being touched, and if we leave him alone too long… he’ll try to hurt himself.”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed at Dean. He still didn’t seem to notice she was there, or that she was speaking right in front of him. Dean’s eyes were fixed on the water before them, unwavering, but dull and lifeless. It was like he was… empty. Hollow. Cassie swallowed and looked at his hands. They were folded tight, fingers latched together in a vice grip. His arms were shaking subtly.

“What happens when you try to talk to him?” Cassie asked.

Mabel shrugged. “Usually nothing. Sometimes he’ll respond to clear instructions and commands, such as eating and getting dressed himself. It’s how we know he can hear. But he doesn’t seem able to communicate with us. Either that, or he doesn’t want to.” The woman smiled at Cassie then, an encouraging look meant for families who didn’t have much hope. Cassie didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You can talk to him, if you like,” Mabel suggested. “Even though he doesn’t answer, we believe it’s good for him to have people interacting with him.”

“Thank you,” Cassie said.

Mabel turned to walk away then, but Cassie raised a hand, “Wait. What… What was he like when he got here? A year ago?”

The pensive look returned. Mabel visibly fought to smile through it. “The first few months we had to keep him in isolation,” she explained, cautious, “he wasn’t safe to keep around the others yet. But he’s made remarkable improvement since then. Really.”

Cassie smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

The woman winced more than smiled before she finally walked away, returning to whatever duties Cassie had taken her from.

She returned her attention to Dean in front of her. His eyes were still locked on the pond. The light shimmered against his face, making him look otherworldly in the glow.

Cassie sighed and stood. She walked away to grab a chair and returned setting it down beside Dean’s. Once comfortable, Cassie cast another glance at Dean before turning to the pond.

“So,” she said, wondering if he’d even hear her. “It’s been awhile, Dean.”

The only sound that returned was the water fountain.

Cassie sighed. “It’s good to see you, even if you don’t know who I am anymore.” She frowned and looked up at Dean’s slackened face. “I’ll keep visiting,” she promised. “It would feel wrong if I didn’t. But you better know that this thing you’ve got going on… it’s freaky, and I don’t like it. I want to see you get better, okay?”

She narrowed her eyes, watching, almost praying, for any kind of reaction. There was none. Dean continued to stare straight ahead, motionless.

Cassie sighed and looked at his hands. Her eyebrows rose.

His fists were no longer clenched. The shaking had stopped.

“I’ll take that as a good sign,” she murmured.

They sat together for the rest of the hour.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Dean's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Suicidal Ideation in this chapter, as well as some highly conflicting mental thoughts and emotional imbalance. 
> 
> (I.E. Dean has no idea what he's feeling so therefore he's gonna' do everything in his power not to feel at all, which proves difficult.)

The woman continued to visit at least twice a week. Dean saw her every time, even though he never turned his head to acknowledge her. In the back of his mind, he knew he recognized her from… somewhere. But he couldn’t bring himself to latch onto the feeling, to hold onto it. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough these days. Dean couldn’t remember the last time anything was.

All he could remember whenever he closed his eyes were screams, monsters, and lights that sucked the life out of the room.

Sometimes Dean was lucky and could fend off those nightmares and visions for as long as he could. But other days he wasn’t as lucky, and he was struck with hallucinations in the light of day. He always came out of those visions to find himself strapped to a bed by every limb, worried men and woman standing at his bedside with clipboards and pens.

Dean was too tired to care about anything anymore. All he cared about was trying to focus on his breathing and not think about whatever the hell brought him here.

He couldn’t remember much after the screams, the light, the monster that started it all. Everything felt like a blur; it was a thousand images crammed into one until none of them could be distinguished at all.

Dean was tired. He wanted it all to be over.

But then there was _that woman_. He’d never looked at her long enough to identify much about her, only that there was something distinct about her. Maybe it was the scent that seemed to follow her, vaguely reminiscent of vanilla and coffee beans. Or maybe it was the visions of dark hair that seemed to invade his senses whenever she sat beside him.

Something was familiar. Something tugged at his senses and ordered him to pay attention, to _see_ whoever wouldn’t stop visiting to him, talking to him. Everything he heard was white noise. But her voice was water. It was smooth, and it washed over him, even when he couldn’t bring himself to understand the words.

So he didn’t. He carried out with his usual routine and focused on nothing but ignoring everything. If he dared to let himself go for even a moment, he was terrified of what might come out of him.

He hated the itch in his veins, the boiling and pounding rhythm just beneath his skin. It was hard enough to breathe. He didn’t need to think about the world around him, or whoever the hell kept visiting. He couldn't even think about himself without losing his mind.

It was better to ignore. It was easier to filter out the white noise and focus on the silence he preferred to fill himself with.

But still, he had that woman who wouldn’t stop visiting.

Like today, for instance. He sensed her before he saw her. Maybe it was how long he’d been in this place, but the light always filtered into the recreation room a certain way whenever she appeared. He felt the warm rays on his shoulders when he caught the scent that seemed to always follow her, those old coffee beans with a touch of vanilla.

He didn’t turn to look at her. The people that seemed to work the place had set him down at the table, his usual place. No one else sat beside him today. It was just him and a dozen pieces of paper with drawing utensils littered across. He hadn’t bothered to touch them, or study them and the variations in color.

All he knew was that he’d been alone, and then suddenly, he wasn’t.

Dark brown curls flitted through his vision. Dean didn’t look up. He continued to stare straight through, allowing everything in front of him to blur together into nothing.

“Dean?” It was her voice. He knew it immediately. The sound of it tugged at the base of his memory, fighting to be heard and remembered. Dean pushed it back down and stared at the corner of the table. Or maybe it was the corner of the room. It was all gray to him anyway.

“How are you?” She was still speaking. Dean didn’t answer. He had no motive to.

The woman sighed and shifted. The curls of her hair bounced in the corner of his eye, drifting closer. Dean didn’t flinch. He kept his gaze on the corner.

“I know you can hear me,” she continued. “The nurses tell me sometimes you respond… at least enough to prove you know you’re being spoken to. Can you tap your finger?”

Dean blinked and stared at the corner. He wasn’t focusing on her words. He was working hard not to focus on anything. It was too hard.

He remained perfectly still and kept his gaze forward, unwavering. He let the woman’s voice drift into the other white noise. He heard her, but he didn’t pick up a single meaning.

But her last question rang in the background of his mind. It repeated and echoed endlessly, swirling around until it was the only thing that filled his head.

_Tap your finger._

_Tap your finger._

_Can you tap your finger?_

…

It was probably hours later. Dean wasn’t paying attention anymore.

The woman left at some point. He hadn’t paid attention or any mind to her presence, only able to focus on the words inside his head and the lingering scent she left in her wake.

When she left, his body felt heavy. He was alone again and he knew it. No one else came to sit beside him, and Dean decided it was probably for the better. He wouldn’t have wanted to sit next to himself either. It was bad enough just being himself.

His limbs felt jerky and uncoordinated, like some kind of robotic fixture that hadn’t been oiled in years. He was rusty, stiff. He never wanted to move again.

But just like every single damn day, he wasn’t allowed to be alone. They wouldn’t let him sit and rust away the way he was meant to. They wouldn’t just let nature take its course, wasting him away until there was nothing left. Then the outside would finally match the inside.

_Cold. Shattered. Decomposing._

Someone stood in front of his face. Honey gold eyes filled his vision, but Dean wasn’t paying attention.

A familiar voice was speaking, but it was white noise like everything else. This was probably the one man that seemed to be looking after him the most, refusing to let him waste. Dean didn’t know his name. He didn’t know what he looked like either, aside from those golden eyes and the white coat.

“...an… Dea...n?”

Dean blinked and relaxed his hands, wondering if he could work himself up to paying attention again. It was always hard after the visits from the woman. He’d already spent too much energy accepting that crystal water voice into his head. He wasn’t sure how much more he could afford without overwhelming himself.

He could only guess what the man wanted. The man was probably there to make Dean move, stop his rusting and get him back to ‘his room.’ Either that, or the man’s room, where he’d set Dean in an armchair and pick at his brain, trying to get him to talk or do something for himself.

_Like tap your finger_ , his mind helpfully supplied. The moment he felt the words register he felt a spark run through his body. His fingers tingled. His eyes twitched. He stuffed down the thought as quickly as possible.

“Ah, I saw that,” the man before him chuckled. Dean shut his eyes and held still. This was enough. He was tired. He wanted to sleep now. He wanted his room and his bed.

_Yes. Bed. Sleep. Now._

“Let’s get you up,” the man continued. “I’m going to touch you now, so you will feel my hands on your shoulders. I’m going to help you stand.”

Dean kept his eyes closed. His body froze when he felt warm fingers wrap around his shoulders, sending shocks through his body like lightning. His eyes flew open and he stared straight through white and golden eyes.

He wanted to leave. He wanted his bed. Or better yet, he could just crash through the window. That always gave him time alone, if not the chance to also be alone for eternity.

Dean felt his body moving upward, courtesy of the man’s hands that now settled on his arms. Dean kept his eyes down and allowed the man to lead him through the recreation room, now darkened by the evening light slipping through the windows.

There was no one else in the room. Just them.

_Figured._ Dean wouldn’t have moved unless someone forced him, like they had to do nearly every day.

Any energy he had to try and make a break for the window crashed through him to the floor. He felt boneless, like a lead sack waiting to drop.

His skin buzzed where the man was still touching his arm. It felt like the only thing keeping Dean on his feet, taking one haggard step at a time.

His breath rattled through his lungs, cold seeping in with every breath until they reached the guest rooms. The man stopped their trek in front of the door marked ‘Dean,’ freshly written in several weeks ago after the woman first appeared.

It used to say J.D. Dean remembered being called ‘John’ before she showed up. He’d never paid any attention. He hadn’t cared back then, and he still didn’t. But it brought that nagging back, just in the back of his mind.

Sometimes that feeling felt like butterflies, some fleeting memory he knew he was meant to take hold of. But he was too tired, and he wasn’t prepared to lose himself just yet.

The buzzing on his arm and the writing on the door gave him enough energy to stand on his own as the man dropped his hand away.

“Dean,” the man sighed. He sounded as tired as Dean felt. Dean couldn’t bring himself to blame him. He couldn’t bring himself to feel much of anything most days. It was only recently that the butterflies in his stomach and head had grown more frequent. It was that woman’s fault. She was making him feel like this, making him… _want._

He couldn’t remember ever fighting to not remember. He couldn’t remember fighting to stay the same.

It made him nauseous sometimes. The conflicting feelings warred inside him, made him feel more unbalanced than usual. He didn’t ask to feel like this. He didn’t _want_ to feel like this.

He couldn’t decide what he wanted anymore. All he knew was that ever since that woman showed up, he’d definitely started wanting _something._

All he could do was hold on to what he knew. Don't get involved, don’t give back, don’t let himself go. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt again. Not him, not anyone. _Definitely not that woman._

The warm sensation returned to his chest. His eyes snapped up, seeing through those golden eyes again. It was enough to distract him from his raging thoughts. He needed to quiet himself again. He needed to be still. He couldn’t afford to let himself slip this much.

God, he was too tired.

“Dean, you’re slipping again,” the man was talking. Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to care. Not now. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget. He always wanted to detach whenever the woman came. Everything else felt too hard.

“I’ve been seeing progress in you Dean,” the man said. “Ever since Cassie’s shown up, you’ve been calmer. It’s been over three weeks since your last episode. You’re getting _better_ , whether you’re able to realize it or not. I think you’re almost ready to start communicating again; I’ve told Cassie as much. You’re reacting without prompting. I think you can take control Dean.”

Dean stared at the floor. His fingers tingled, the ghost of a memory dancing across his palms. He wanted to clench his fists. He wanted to go into his room and slam the door.

_Damnit._ He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He needed to sleep it off. He needed to stop these… _feelings_.

He wanted to stop existing. Why did it have to be such a battle?

“Dean, I want you to try and do something for me. I told Cassie to ask you something. We want you to try a physical hand movement, by yourself. You don’t move without someone making you, but we believe you can do it. Dean, I want you to try and tap your finger.”

_Tap your finger._

Dean’s eye twitched. The tingling in his fingers returned with a vengeance. He could grab this man, shove him away. He could run down the hall and find the nearest window possible. He could grab the glass and end everything. He didn’t have to deal with this.

The burning under his skin was back. The boiling in his veins was building. He was going to have another episode. Damn. _Damn._

He couldn’t do this.

The hand on his chest tightened, pushing into him and recapturing his attention.

“Stay with me Dean,” the man whispered, golden eyes narrowed and fierce. “You were listening, weren’t you? You were thinking about doing it. I’m telling you it’s okay. You’re safe. Don’t be afraid Dean.”

Dean didn’t respond. He stared at the floor for several moments before squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m going to lower my hand now, Dean,” the man murmured. “I want this to be all you. You can do it.”

Just like he said, the pressure was gone. Dean slowly opened his eyes, gaze fixed on the ground. The boiling sensation was slowly lessening. The tingling still remained.

_Tap your finger._

The thought sounded distinctly like that woman’s. His hands felt oddly warm, but for once, he felt himself listening.

_Tap your finger._

“Dean!”

His eyes snapped up. The man’s gold eyes were wide. A smile was split wide across his face like a megawatt beam. He was… happy?

“Dean, look at your hand.”

He did. He couldn’t find it in himself to react.

Dean’s hand was clenched tight in a fist. Every finger was curved down, except for one. His pointer finger was extended, and tapping in an awkward but steady rhythm against his leg.

He… was doing it. The warmth in his hands flooded up through his body until his entire chest felt warm. His lips twitched, but he knew he wasn’t smiling.

He felt strange. He had no idea what he was feeling, or why. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to find out. His body grew weighted again, leaded and powerless.

The man’s hand touched his arm again, keeping him centered long enough for the man to open his door and lead Dean to the bed. Once he was settled on the mattress, the man stepped away and beamed.

“You did an excellent job today, Dean,” he praised, sending shocks through Dean’s limbs. “You’re doing amazing. I’ll be sure to let Cassie know about your progress. Sleep now. You’ve earned it.”

Dean stared as the man left, closing the door behind him. Once silence descended on the room once more, Dean finally looked down again.

His finger was still tapping against his knee. The touch was warm and solid. Grounding. Dean felt centered.

He chose not to think about it, and allowed the silence of the room to blanket the rest of his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you liked the chapter.
> 
> I'm very sorry for the incredibly slow updates. I'm usually pretty consistent week by week, but this month has been very bad for me and I haven't been able to hold the commitments. I'm not sure if things are evening out right now, but I've been story building the chapters ahead, and I have a solid plan for the next chapter. If all goes well, I will update by Friday anytime between noon and evening.
> 
> Thank you *so* much for your patience with me. It really means the world.
> 
> Please review if you have some time and let me know what you think :) Reviews feed my brain power and help keep my creativity flowing. 
> 
> Again, thank you! I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter~!
> 
> -Kams


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassie gets a call about Dean's progress, as well as a request for something more than she might be willing to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for reading and reviewing :) It really helps boost my motivation to write and keep giving updates. 
> 
> This chapter is a little short, but it's going to set up to next chapter. Hope you guys like it! Please enjoy!

“Oh my God, Johanna, you and Dylan really upped your game this year.” Carla was visibly awestruck, twirling around in place as she took in the decor. Cassie was just as impressed.

Johanna worked for her husband at _Black Winery_ , a family founded vineyard and company. While Johanna’s husband spent most of his time in PR and Media, Johanna was in charge of events. For example, Johanna had invited all of the ladies in their group to the latest wine tasting.

“This one will be special,” she’d hinted at their lunch the previous week, “Dylan and I have been working on something new. We think people are really going to like it.”

“Count me in!” Carla had exclaimed with a laugh, raising her glass in a toast. Cassie grinned and did likewise.

“I think Jamie will like that,” Sally smiled softly.

And, just as Sally promised, she and her wife were side by side and admiring the large room filled with choice wines and honey red theme.

Carla even brought her husband, who was chatting with the other husbands on the other side of the room. Dylan was in that group as well, and judging by the looks he continually sent their way, he was likely bragging about his wife. The glowing smile only proved Cassie’s theory.

It brought a twisting in her chest, watching all of her friends and their lovers, partners, spouses. This wasn’t the first time Cassie realized she was the odd one out in the group; she had no boyfriend, no significant other of any kind. She was always the single friend, coming alone and sticking only with her friends when they were available to be together.

Cassie knew that wasn’t a bad thing. There was nothing wrong with being single. But it was tiresome watching all of her friends with something when every relationship Cassie had ever tried eventually failed.

She hadn’t even dated in the past three years. It hadn’t been worth it, and Cassie hadn’t met anyone she wanted to try out.

Maybe that would change someday. But for now, Cassie was happy enough. She had her friends that she had the privilege of seeing all the time. She loved talking with them and exchanging their ridiculous life stories of the week.

And then she had Dean to think about. Dean, who Liaberg said was progressing all the time even though Cassie had no idea what that meant or looked like. Dean, who was silent as the grave and looked the same.

But he was also worth visiting, and Cassie wanted to see him get better. However, she had no idea how to do that, and she had her work and friends to think about. Until she heard anything new from Liaberg, she needed to keep her priorities in her eyeline. It was the only way to move forward.

“Cassie,” Johanna hummed, touching her arm. “You look thoughtful. What’s on your mind?”

Cassie huffed and shook her head, smiling, “Work, mostly,” she lied. “I need to write a report on crime rates and community action this week. I envy Carla. She actually gets to write about you and Dylan, cheat.”

Johanna threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, the jealousy. I’m sure you’re filled with it.” The woman winked and tossed her dark curls over her shoulder, fixing Cassie with her wide eyes. “Got any ideas for your article yet? Know what you’re gonna’ write?”

Cassie shook her head and watched as a server walked around with small wine tasting glasses. Cassie smiled and took one as a short boy passed, taking a sip to stall for time.

“The best I can come up with is historical comparison, showing what crime looks like today rather than what it was, say, ten years ago. It might help get more community support.”

“Wasn’t there some crazy story ten years back?” Johanna’s eyes lit up. “Some crazy truck driver or something?”

Cassie stopped herself from flinching. Oh yes. The racist truck driver. The racist _ghost_ truck driver. She’d called Dean for that case. It had been the first time she’d seen him in years, bringing closure to so much emotional strife, and then… it was simultaneously the last time she’d seen him. He’d promised he’d see her again, but even then she took it with a grain of salt. She knew then what Dean’s life looked like. She didn’t expect him to come back, even though she’d hoped.

Which brought her to now. Dean was back, and he acted like he was in a walking coma. Cassie honestly felt like she was still processing that fact, most days.

“Yeah,” she grunted, draining her glass. “Those were crazy times, Jo. Good thing we don’t have anything that bad anymore.”

“Have you _seen_ the news?” Johanna sighed. “I’m pretty sure things will always stay the same.”

“That’s no way to think.” Cassie touched her friend’s shoulder and squeezed gently, reassuring. “That’s why we keep talking about injustice. It gets people involved and listening. That’s the best we can do most days.”

Johanna smiled. “That’s why we love you best Cassie,” she teased, eyes warm and genuine. “You’ve always believed anything is possible.”

“Call it a combination of practice and experience.”

“Well get me some of _that_ ,” Johanna laughed. “And in the meantime, let’s get some _real_ drinks in our hands.”

“Absolutely,” Cassie beamed, happily linking arms with her friend and wandering back to their group of friends, chatting away by the bar table.

They stuck together for an hour or more before Cassie felt her phone ringing in her pocket. She excused and checked the number. _Clearview Clinic._

Cassie’s heart leapt. She made her way to the bathroom and answered the moment the door was locked behind her.

“This is Cassie Robinson,” she gasped. “Is Dean okay?”

“ _This is Mabel with Clearview Clinic,_ ” the woman on the other line replied. “ _We had you listed to call if there was any significant progress with Dean Winchester?_ ”

Cassie pressed the phone to her chest and took a deep breath. Dean was okay. Good.

She brought the phone back to her ear and replied, “Yes. That’s correct. What happened?”

“ _Doctor Liaberg asked you to help with a test. The goal was for Dean to initiate action of his own free will. He initiated action last night and has continued with it today. Doctor Liaberg said we should contact you with the update._ ”

Cassie blinked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Dean was making decisions on his own. He…

“What has he done? Specifically?”

“ _He started tapping his finger in a steady rhythm. This morning it changed in frequency. Doctor Liaberg believes Mr. Winchester is repeating the rhythm of a rock song._ ”

Cassie snorted. Now _that_ sounded like Dean. Her heart hammered in her chest at the thought.

Dean was acting like himself again. It was incredibly small, almost insignificant, but it felt like a mountain. After so many weeks of no movement, recognition, or response of any kind, Dean was doing something by himself, and no one forced him to.

This wasn’t just the first progress Cassie had heard about in nearly two months. This was a major accomplishment for the clinic. The last Cassie had heard, Dean’s only progress for over a year was a lack of psychotic episodes, and even those still happened from time to time. Even less since Cassie arrived, or so Liaberg said.

But this… this was huge. It meant so much. Cassie couldn’t stop her smile even if she tried.

“That’s excellent,” she finally replied. “I’ll come to visit tomorrow. Thank you for calling.”

“ _Doctor Liaberg would like to speak with you tomorrow, if you’d be willing. You are the only listed contact in Dean’s records, and we have no other listed medical information to reference. Doctor Liaberg would like to discuss the possibility of making you Mr. Winchester’s Conservator._ ”

Cassie blinked. “Are you talking… about medical and financial responsibility?”

“ _It doesn’t have to be both. Doctor Liaberg would simply like the ability to discuss Mr. Winchester’s medical history and needs with you, but in order to do so you would need to complete some paperwork and documentation so you might be listed as Dean Winchester’s Conservator. You don’t have to say yes, but it is an option that the doctor would like to discuss._ ”

Cassie ran a hand over her face, counting her breaths and clearing her head.

“I… I’m willing to discuss it. But I won’t make any decisions about anything until I have more information.”

“ _We understand this is a lot to take on. Like I said before, you don’t have to say yes. It’s simply an option that might help us further Mr. Winchester’s care in the best possible way. The meeting will discuss your relationship with Mr. Winchester as well as your possible candidacy._ ”

“So it might not even work, even if I did say yes?”

“ _That is a possibility. That’s why Doctor Liaberg would like to plan a meeting with you. Will tomorrow work?_ ”

“Yes,” Cassie sighed. “I’m free after four.”

“ _Thank you very much. We’ll email you the details. Have a good evening._ ”

Cassie hung up and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Well then, she sighed, she had a lot to study up on.

But first, she needed to return to her friends. If they asked what the phone call was about, she would have to come up with an answer that didn’t include Conservatorship or Dean Winchester. It was best to keep her personal life and her background life separate. At least for now until she learned more.

It was the right thing to do. She hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> me: lovefromdean.tumblr.com
> 
> i hope you liked it!


End file.
